Only Tim Sent Flowers

Mary Louise, a bookish, redheaded, freckle-faced, eighteen-year-old virgin, who suffers from Asperger’s Syndrome, dispenses with Tim, her loving but far too serious and conventional high school boyfriend, then thrusts herself, groin first, into the 1960s sexual revolution, pioneering concepts such as friends with benefits and serial monogamy, while earning two college degrees in statistics. Nicknamed Tookie by her doting father, she engages in often humorous escapades with innumerable unsuitable lovers, whom she seduces with her oral virtuosity. But through it all, the one thing she really wants escapes her--a man who will truly love her, despite her faults, and give her a daughter.

KUDOS FOR ONLY TIM SENT FLOWERS

In Only Tim Sent Flowers by George Kaplan, Mary Louise (aka Tookie, although she doesn’t like the nickname) is a young woman with Asperger’s Syndrome, who is obsessed with men and having sex. The story starts out when Tookie is eighteen in 1969. Unhappy with her first boyfriend, who is devoted to her, she sheds him and starts hunting for someone more to her liking. Not especially pretty, and social awkward due to her Asperger’s, she gallops through men like wild horses on stampede. Believing sex is all she has to offer, she begins to study techniques and fully embraces the free love mentality of the sixties. But what she really wants isn’t a non-stop series of one-night stands, it’s a man who will love her for herself and give her the daughter she craves. I was frankly amazed that Kaplan was able to pen such a realistic, flawed, human, and three dimensional character who is a female, as that kind of depth in female characters is rare in male authors. You can’t help but empathize with this poor mixed-up girl, who is really very sweet. ~ Taylor Jones, Reviewer

Only Tim Sent Flowers by George Kaplan is the story of a young woman who suffers from undiagnosed Asperger’s Syndrome. Tookie, whose real name is Mary Louise, is raised by overprotective parents who know there is something wrong with her, but they aren’t sure just what it is. She obviously isn’t retarded because she is very, very smart. But she is very socially awkward. Deciding that she isn’t pretty enough to attract men without some added appeal, she begins studying sex techniques, becoming an expert at oral sex. Constantly on the prowl for Mr. Right, Tookie cuts a swath through all her male coworkers, single or married, going easily from job to job and man to man, all the time looking for love with all the wrong people. While in the background, Tookie’s first boyfriend, the only man who truly loves her, keeps waiting for her to come around and see the light. Only Tim Sent Flowers is a heart-warming, heart-breaking, realistic story of a charming, endearing misfit, struggling to fit in with a world that doesn’t understand those of us who deviate from the norm, whether by choice or disease, and doesn’t really want to. Kaplan handled the subject with both compassion and sensitivity. Bravo. ~ Regan Murphy, Reviewer

Only Tim Sent Flowers

George Kaplan

A Black Opal Books Publication

Copyright © 2015 by George Kaplan

Cover Design by Jackson Cover Designs

All cover art copyright © 2015

All Rights Reserved

EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-626943-88-9

EXCERPT

We were so good together, how could he do this to me?

We’ll have to economize in lots of ways, Isaac said after hearing his wife’s terms for a divorce.

We don’t need to belong to the country club, I replied.

I forgot to mention--

Let me guess. She gets the country club membership and ya get the dues.

We’ll have some pretty lean years to start.

I don’t mind. I’m used to not having anything. Now I’ve got ya. That’s enough. I guess I’ll have to put off starting a family.

He smiled. You really mean it?

Kiss me. I have you. That’s enough for now. I can wait to have a baby.

I felt especially close to Isaac that night. No man’d ever sacrificed for me before. Our lovemaking was the best ever. He made my kitty purr quick, long, and loud. I felt so good we were late getting up and had to hurry through breakfast to get out the door on time. It was a particularly busy day at work, even for a Thursday. Fridays tended to be slow but Thursdays were hectic. I didn’t mind because I liked keeping busy. It also distracted me from observing how others looked at and talked about me. After work, I hurried home.

Isaac wasn’t there yet, so I figured he was working late or something until I saw his key laying on a piece of yellow tablet paper on the kitchen table. It read, Tookie, You’re a great girl but I-- and nothing else. He didn’t finish, but I knew he’d gone back to his wife. I couldn’t believe it. We were in such perfect harmony. He was so attuned to my feelings. He always said exactly what I needed to hear. How could he have left me so easily?

The cold shock of reality struck me in the face when I opened his empty closet. Convincing myself that this was an aberration, I opened his dresser drawers. Empty too.

DEDICATION

To the several editors who have guided my work to the point it is today.

Chapter 1

Freedom

A man might forget where he parks or where he lives, but he never forgets oral sex, no matter how bad it is. ~ Barbara Bush, First Mom: The Wit and Wisdom of Barbara Bush

(Tookie)

I love penises. Okay, I admit it. The male organ is my favorite body part. But I don’t have penis envy. I like being a girl. I’m not a girly-girl and don’t care much for clothes, fashion, or makeup. But I’m definitely not interested in women. Men have many shortcomings, but they’re the only ones who come with the male sex organ. I never wanted one of my own because I’d be stuck with the same one all the time and variety is the spice of love. I may not be Marilyn Monroe, but I know how to get my hands on a throbbing cock when I want one. But I wasn’t always that way.

I was almost nineteen and 1969 was half gone before I shed my first boyfriend, but, sadly, not my virginity. I discovered boys the first day of kindergarten but, a decade later, they hadn’t discovered me until I unexpectedly received a phone call, my first from a boy, from Tim.

I was new in town--Daddy’s company moved us often and we stayed nowhere as long as three years--and, as usual, the boys at school ignored me. Perhaps my dark-red hair and green eyes, the two things along with my intelligence that made me special, put them off.

My only girlfriend, Sue, had a boyfriend, but I hadn’t had so much as a nibble. When the phone rang as I passed my parents’ bedroom, I answered it to hear a nervous-sounding boy’s voice.

Hello. May I speak to Tookie, please?

Who’s this? A boy could be calling me? I hope he doesn’t want help with his homework. That’d give me an opening but I want someone smart.

Tim Burgess. We met--

I know. My name is Mary Louise. I don’t like Tookie.

Daddy gave us nicknames but mine was stupid. Mom was Chunkin or Mother Chunkin, Beth was Princess, Daniel was Chessman, Mike was Good Mike, and Jake, the baby, was Bad Jake or Black Bart, depending on how he was behaving.

Tim was the oldest of a brood of boys who lived two doors down in the house at the corner. His brothers played with my brothers and his baby brother, Joey, played with Cathy Orzag, the little girl who lives in the house between us, who I babysat after school. I knew who he was but hadn’t met him until that afternoon when he picked up Joey while I was babysitting. Why’s he callin’ me?

Would you like to go to the movies on Saturday?

I’ll check. I put the phone down and floated to the living room. A boy with his own car just asked me out. How can I get ’em to let me go?

Mom, Dad, Tim Burgess, a boy who lives on the corner, wants to take me to the movies Saturday. May I go?

Let’s see if the direct approach works.

You’re awfully young to be going on car dates.

My worst fear. Daddy’s so protective.

But all the other girls do.

If all the other girls jumped off a bridge-- was his stock response.

Dear, kids start dating younger than we did in our day. Mother always tried to be supportive.

Beth is a year and a half older than her and she hasn’t gone on any dates. Daddy got that stern look on his face he got when we argued with him too much.

He was always kind and loving but didn’t like backtalk.

But, but--

No buts. You’re not going and that’s final. You’re too young and inexperienced to sit in a dark movie theater with a boy. He picked up his newspaper and started reading it again, signaling the end of the conversation.

It’s taken me so long to get asked out. I don’t want to miss this chance. It might be my last. Maybe we could do something else. I slowly walked back to their bedroom and picked up the phone, trying to come up with something. "I can’t go to the movies with you." Please don’t give up on me.

After a long silence, he tried again. Could you go to the basketball game on Friday?

I tried again. How about the basketball game at school on Friday? I asked my parents. They can’t object to this.

You’re awfully young to be dating, Tookie.

Daaaadddy. Whining usually worked with Mom.

Dear, there will be hundreds of people around. It couldn’t be a more public place. I went to games when I was her age.

You did? Daddy seemed genuinely surprised.

You didn’t know me then. I always had dates to football and basketball games. You may go, Mary Louise.

But--

She’s not retarded, dear, and she has to learn how to handle boys sometime.

I raced down the hall to accept before Daddy could object. I’m becoming a woman now. Men, at least one, find me attractive even if my breasts have barely started growing. They still have time, I thought, because I won’t be sixteen for six months.

My first date was a success, although I was embarrassed at first when my purse fell off the seat down to the floor under the bleachers.

Also, I was too self-conscious to go to the bathroom in the restaurant when I needed to pee badly.

Tim liked me well enough to ask me out again and kiss me on my stoop. I liked being kissed, but not in view of the neighborhood and with my bladder bursting.

Tim had had an academic scholarship to a major, private research university the year before but didn’t do well enough to keep it. He was working in the machine shop at the bullet works but planned on taking courses at Southwestern State the next year. He treated me well and tried to have good manners but it was obvious he’d gotten little training in that department at home. Tim was a mixed blessing. He was plenty smart but much too serious and wore his heart on his sleeve. I was able to control him completely. At the least bit of irritation on my part, he’d back away for fear of losing me. He told me I was beautiful very awkwardly, but he meant it. He was smitten and wanted me badly and I enjoyed his touching me. But I blocked his attempts to feel me up.

Do you want me to be one of those girls who panic every time their periods are a day late?

No, he’d answer sheepishly and pull his hand out of my blouse.

I liked how it felt but didn’t want him to know how little I had. I decided to make him wait until I had more. I didn’t know it then, but I had all I was going to get. I did like it when he rested his hand on my leg when he was driving--I sat right next to him. Cars had bench seats in those days. I especially liked the time he put his hand on the uppermost part of my inner thigh. A tingle ran through me and I wanted to have sex for the first time. But I was far too smart to do anything so stupid and risk ruining both our lives.

Our bliss lasted for just six months. Unfortunately, Tim had to join the air force nanoseconds before he would’ve been drafted and sent to fight in Vietnam. I cried when he was reclassified 1-A, but held back the tears most of the six weeks before he left for boot camp. He wrote often and I answered many of his cards and letters. For fun, I doused some of them with perfume. He came home for two short leaves before being sent overseas.

While Tim was away, my parents became friendly with his mother, Gin. Daddy addressed her as Mother-in-law and Mom went out drinking with her whenever Daddy was out of town on business. I hated it when she came home drunk and disheveled. They generally walked to a bar a few blocks away but sometimes she didn’t walk home. One night I’ve been unable to erase from my memory, I was awakened by the sound of a car making an abrupt stop. I looked out the window to see Mom crawl out of a strange car driven by a man I didn’t recognize. I cried myself to sleep.

In the fall of 1967, Daddy was transferred to North Jersey, where I struggled to finish senior year. Not only were my classes harder, the kids were much more sophisticated--and very snobby.

I’ll never forget one particular morning. After making snide remarks about my clothes, some girls in my home room cornered me before the teacher arrived.

Why do you have two names, asked the stylishly-dressed ringleader with nice legs.

I like my names. My mother thinks they’re pretty. Having never been confronted like this before, I cowered.

Where were you born--Mississippi, asked her sidekick.

No, Arkansas. I didn’t expect the response or I would’ve lied and said Ohio.

Both girls laughed nastily. You’re not just Southern. You’re a Southern hick, said the sidekick.

I must come up with something. My friends call me Tookie.

A girl entirely different from the others, muscled through the huddle. Tookie. Hmmm. That’s a good name for a Jersey girl. This trashy girl with the big hair and miniest of miniskirts put her arm around my shoulders and guided me to my seat. Raising her voice, she said to the class. Tookie here’s my friend. Leave her alone or deal with me.

The room went silent as I adopted a disliked nickname as my own to fit in.

My only dates, just a couple, were with Danny Romalo. He took me to the Senior Prom but his mother squelched what little interest I had. She thought I was trying to take him away from her. She was mistaken. No one wanted her mama’s boy. Soon, school was out and Beth got married, giving me a bedroom of my own for the first time in my life.

I searched want ads daily for a job, filed several applications, but got no offers, not even an interview.

In late August, a month after my eighteenth birthday, Tim returned from his tour of duty in The Philippines, Vietnam, and Thailand and stayed with us several days on his way to his new base in Upstate New York. He looked handsome with his hair bleached blond from working outdoors on fighter jets. Like mine, his fair skin burned easily, so he wasn’t tanned much.

He arrived late one morning after driving an unreliable clunker of a car overnight from his home in the Midwest. He brought me several nice presents. I still have most of them. He was as smitten as ever but didn’t grasp my readiness to enlist in the sexual revolution. But in his defense, I didn’t give him many clues. Funny thing was, as much as I wanted to have sex with Tim, I didn’t feel romantic toward him and couldn’t bring myself to be affectionate. He often had a look of confusion on his face. I enjoyed keeping him off balance.

Mom and Dad were glad to see him. From the beginning, they liked him and would’ve been pleased if I’d married him. Whenever I criticized him, they defended him. He’s so much like you: smart, sensitive, and gentle. On top of that, he loves you deeply and would kill himself to make you happy.

He has no social skills, I countered.

You’re one to talk, Mary Louise. Maybe you two can work together on that one.

Mike and Jake, however, were still jealous of him and punched him when no one was looking. They feared he’d take me away from them. Their fears weren’t unfounded because, although Tim very much wanted to marry me, I wanted no part of a life like my mother’s.

We had the house to ourselves weekdays after everyone else left for school or work, but Tim wasted the opportunity. One morning, I even dropped down to his bedroom off the kitchen nook with almost nothing on, just panties, bra, and a thin robe. He rose from bed aroused just from seeing me. He kissed me passionately and hugged me tightly. He could’ve had me that morning, but didn’t even try. I’d never before felt anything remotely as good as when his erection rubbed against my clit as we hugged. I just stood there, taking in how good it felt but Tim didn’t press for anything further and released me.

How was that, he asked with a guilty look on his face.

It felt good. Maybe I should’ve breathed hard, panted, or said something to encourage him, but I didn’t flatter or boost guys’ egos.

I passed up my chance to take matters in hand that day and again a couple of nights when I tucked him in after we’d made out for a little while in the living room. I thought about jerking down his briefs so I could see his hard-on and suck on it if I liked what I saw. But I didn’t, as I was too shy. He might’ve had a heart attack or thought I was a whore. What I was brave enough to do was to stroke his belly just above the waistband of his briefs. His stomach muscles spasmed and I giggled. I remember this well because it was then I first realized I possessed womanly powers over men.

Not long after Tim left for his new air force assignment--he had a year and a half left on his enlistment--I landed a clerical job at Carver-Watkins, a local pharmaceutical company. Most of the young girls were made typists because they’d learned office skills in high school. I didn’t because I only took academic courses. So they assigned me to work with statisticians and programmers. My first tasks were keypunching data cards for statistical studies. Before long, they had me writing simple FORTRAN programs. I fantasized being a sexstatician, a statistician by day and a woman of intrigue by night, but none of the men at work had hit on me.

Tim drove down to visit me whenever he had a free weekend and enough gas, food, and toll money and when his clunker was running well enough to make the trip. He averaged one visit a month and I flew up to visit him once. My parents let me go because they wanted me to marry Tim, but they insisted I stay with someone and most definitely not in a motel. A married couple Tim’d met at work put me up. We had a nice visit but no sex, not even a good make-out session.

Maybe because timid Tim didn’t screw me, or because he badgered me about marriage, he irritated me frequently and I sliced him up verbally.

He got so intimidated that I had to remind him to make out with me at the passion pit when spring finally broke in 1969.

Hey, you’re watchin’ the movie. It’s been ages since we’ve been alone and you’re ignorin’ me. Star or Thoroughly Modern Mille was on the screen, I forget which. Tim liked musicals and thought Julie Andrews was gorgeous.

He opened the passenger door of my blue ‘66 Mustang and hopped into the back seat. I stowed my tortoise shell glasses on the dashboard, pulled my loose-fitting spring mini-dress up high as I dashed around the car to join him. Not wanting to miss my first chance in ages, I dressed for sex--panties, bra, easily-lifted dress, and slip-on shoes. Nothing else. No slip. No cursed pantyhose. I would’ve dispensed with the panties but Tim would’ve been shocked. I wanted to frustrate him a little with my bra hooks as I figured it’d increase his desire for me. I slid in and reclined across him in a position which gave him ready access to my body. I wanted to be fondled and much more in the worst way that night, so I gave him a hint.

I’m not wearin’ anti-attack clothes.

Mostly for comfort but also to slow Tim down when I didn’t want to be touched, I usually wore slacks and blouses that were hard for a novice to unbutton. I bought the mini-dress before I’d accepted that my legs and, especially, my knees, weren’t designed for short skirts. Tim didn’t care. He liked most everything about me.

I noticed.

He kissed me and I kissed back, to encourage him to keep going, and let him put his right hand on my left breast. I liked it when he molested me that time. It’s been way too long since I let him do this. I’ve been such a fool. Soon, his hand was up my skirt but much lower than I wanted it.

Not yet! I grabbed his wrist and guided his hand back to my breast but under my dress. He massaged me through my bra. Aaaaah. This feels good, so much better than when I do it myself. When he headed south again, I snapped, The other one.

I pulled his hand to my right breast. He obediently fondled it while I kept my hand near to guide him to where I wanted his attention. Apparently intuiting I wanted my tiny breasts touched without interference--by this time I’d accepted they weren’t going to grow any more--he slid his hand under my bra.

Unhook it, I said.

He reached around me with both hands and tussled with my bra hooks for what must’ve seemed like an excruciatingly long time to him. I was torturing him but fully intended to give him everything he wanted plus a lot more. Don’t do it for him. He’ll think I’m easy. I wanted him inside me probably more than he wanted to be there. Eventually, he unhooked my bra and pushed it up out of the way. I pulled him by the ears and arched my back to bring my left breast to his mouth so he could suckle me. Whoooo. Please don’t stop. When he flicked my erect nipples with his tongue, my floodgates opened, drenching my panties. This feels better than I ever imagined. I held his head in place, keeping him from pulling away but let him treat the other one.

We took no intermission when the dancing hot dogs marched across the screen. Do I want to suck his hot dog or should I let him put it inside me? The only feedback I gave Tim when I liked something was to let him continue. I didn’t say anything, pant, writhe, moan, bite, or kiss him more passionately. The only thing he could notice was my wetness.

We’re won’t need lubricants, he said as he massaged my pussy through the cheap unsexy tricot panties my mother bought me.

This feels so nice. He curled his fingers around my soaked crotch and probed me through my thoroughly saturated underpants. Whooo. Don’t stop. I remained silent and motionless, soaking in all these new, wonderful sensations. I just flinched a little when his hand slipped and his middle finger rammed up my butt. This even feels good. I’m surprised. I let him pull my pants down my thighs and spread my knees as far as I could. I’m ready for anything.

Tim slipped his middle finger inside me slowly, tentatively feeling his way around as if he was exploring a newly discovered cave which was, essentially, what he was doing. Oooh, this feels really good. Much better than my finger. Keep it up. He fingered me until the lights came on at the end of the second feature, taking breaks at intervals to kiss me passionately. I should show him how. No. He’ll think I masturbate a lot. I don’t want him to know that. The problem with two inexperienced people is that neither have any useful experience. He clearly knew nothing about women’s anatomy and erogenous zones. He could’ve gotten me off had he touched my clit a time or two, but I was too shy to tell him what to do. He’s so unsure of himself. Didn’t even start to unbuckle his belt. Maybe I’ve been too difficult in the past. When headlights started shining in the windows, I broke the silence, Didn’t the Asian prostitutes teach ya anything?

Didn’t go. Wanted to be worthy of you. He pulled up my panties, rubbed my snatch through them, and kissed me some more.

Shit! I’m not getting laid tonight. I smelled myself all over his hand but he didn’t seem to mind. I’m still really wet and want it badly.

I fantasized about how good it would feel when I finally had Tim inside me when I pleasured myself after returning home. I thought about how nice it felt for a man to give my body his undivided attention, even if he was awkward. The night wasn’t a complete bust. We’d gone way farther than ever before and I liked how it felt. A lot. Next time I’ll get him inside me--one orifice or another. I formulated a plan to spend a weekend in a motel with Tim and started to save money for airfare--Mom and Dad wouldn’t let me drive the four hours up to Tim’s airbase--but I didn’t get to put the plan into action.

I shouted, I’m home as I walked into the house one afternoon after work. Daddy didn’t respond with his usual The Carver-Watkins spy is here because I’d beat him home from work. So I walked into the kitchen where Mom was feeding Mike and Jake their after-school cookies.

You’ve got a letter from Tim, Mom said as she handed it to me.

Did ya read it, nosey? Why’d I say that? She’s never opened my mail. Maybe because she always takes his side.

Mother glared at me. Of course not.

Dear Mary Louise,

I’ve met someone. She’s--

Tears streaming out of my eyes kept me from reading further.

What’s wrong?

Tim dumped me, I stammered through my crying.

Mother showed me no sympathy. I’m surprised it took him so long.

Huh? What on earth could she mean?

He needs affection.

Ya think I shoulda screwed him?

Boys! Go play outside. They dashed out while she handed me some tissues. Sit down. She pointed to the breakfast nook. I sat down and dried my tears while she got herself a forty-ounce Falstaff out of the fridge and took a large swig. You need to be nice to him. Show him you’re happy to see him, thank him for the gifts, smile at him, compliment him, show him you want him in your life. He adores you. He’ll wait until you’re married for sex. That’s not a problem.

What makes you think you’re right? How could she know any of this? Things are different from when she was young.

I see things, lots of things, and I’ve lived a lot longer than you have. She unconsciously peeled part of the label off the beer bottle while she talked. I saw him comfort you the time Daddy got in trouble over the Paregoric. He’s a keeper.

I don’t want to get married and have a bunch of kids, I sobbed.

"Beth just rushed out and married the first bum who came along and you’re rushing to get rid of a young man who loves you deeply and would be